Transience
by theshipthatwasnevermeanttosail
Summary: "The course of true love never did run smooth." William Shakespeare


Disclaimer: Nothing is owned

It was late when the man wobbled his way back home. There was a slight drizzle, filling up soft puddles in the indentations of the ground, like little secret pathways into another world. The man, however, seemed oblivious, or perhaps he just didn't care as he plunged his foot into one, the rain, cold and wet as blood, drenched his shoes and splashed onto his leather boots, claiming them as its own in his confused state. The plunge seemed to take away his strength and weaken his mind, forcing him to kneel down on one knee, as if he was proposing to the moon-lit sky in a desperate and vain attempt to claim a faithful and eternal lover.

But the truth was, if you were willing to accept it, the moon was not eternal, neither was that of the sun. They live and they die, as did any other star. Even the earth one day would vanish with the burning of the sun, or some sort of natural disaster that seemed to multiply day by day. The Mayans predicted the so-called apocalypse, and even if it had not came true, the fact remained that things, the living and the dead, would one day vanish into the cold that was oblivion. It was the circle of life, and even the dead and lifeless succumb to it, washed away by time and changing desires. Their lives were long, but they were not eternal. And the moon alone would vanish every morning, giving the place to her much more desired counterpart to give life to earth and restore the gift of light. She could never stay in one place, forever bound to travel by the force of gravity, and even when her disappearance would bring along the promise of its appearance to-morrow, such promises could be broken by chance, or nature's changing course, by a thunderstorm, or merely by the passing of a cloud. Such was the way it was bound to be, and such was the way of life. It wasn't that Alec was interested in her anyway, counting on the fact that he already had an eternal lover.

Well, he _had_ had one.

Alec never thought they would end this way. Hell, he never thought there would even be a "_they_" to begin with, to be completely honest with himself.

He had always known that he would never be anywhere near the top of the world. He wasn't nearly as breathtakingly beautiful as his brother and sister were, and he wasn't a charmer, for his face was normally, though quite contentedly, always frozen into an emotionless mask of indifference and his mouth had never succeeded in doing anything else other than stutter or retort, both of which had never seemed to please anyone. He would never be a smooth talker like Jace, and he never intended to be one, nor needed to be one - he was the protector in the trio, Jace the charmer and Iz the seducer. Not that he wanted that to be her role, but she was good at it - Alec was never one to be in the spotlight, and he was perfectly fine with blending into the background-it came with the job, really, being a shadowhunter. He literally hunted in the dark, and he was comfortable in it; he loved the way darkness enveloped him from the judging eyes of the public, and he liked the serenity of being alone. He never cared much about fashion or anything that would make him stand out, and he didn't think he would ever need it. Standing out would only attract attention he did not want.

But that was before he had met Magnus.

Magnus, was, in a word, different. He was the complete opposite of Alec. The warlock was a Downworlder, and he was stunningly beautiful in such an unconventional way, the way that attract both looks of disgust and appreciation, yet hold your gaze anyhow. He flourished in the spotlight as if he owned it, which, he did, and even when he wasn't in it, he would still shine, from his colour streaked-hair, glitter-covered body and sequinned clothing. He was someone who loved to shout, to dance, to charm, and he was good at it, oh, he was the _best_ at it. To him, Magnus was the embodiment of everything Alec wasn't; he was the combination of confidence, fashion, beauty and pure _sex_. And when Alec was with him, he felt like he was at the top of the world. And when he stared into those gold-flecked green of his eyes, those mischievous slits of eyes that the shadowhunter loved so much, despite Magnus' hatred for them, he felt at peace, at home.

On the streets of the city that never slept, men and women, young and old, walked on in passive ignorance. The unlucky ones, with their heads hung low and coats tucked in, and the lucky ones, who despite their luck, with their umbrellas wide open, furrowed foreheads nonetheless, staring up to the sky with an accusation in mind. But whatever they were and whoever they were, they were all in a mission to race against time, their nemesis in this brave new world that valued money and time over men themselves.

A man had fallen right in the middle of them, a sodden, clean-cut man, but passersby paid him no heed as their eyes swept over the fallen in disdain and distrust. Such men were dangerous, pity and taking the time to pity others were equally dangerous. They resumed their race - they could lose not a second - and forget about him soon after as one would forget about taking a step. This was not an unforgettable man.

Alec grunted in pain, his face white-washed with a sudden, depressed soberness, as if he had just been awakened from a dream he never intended to have. Dragging his leg up with one arm in an almost futile attempt, he lifted his head to the rain, furrowing his eyebrows as he stood and straightened his back, then continued his plough with the tottering fashion of a drunken man.

Alec never thought he would pick him.

Magnus could have anyone he wanted, and Alec suspected that if Magnus had tried harder, or maybe just _try_, he might even have Jace in his arms. But he chose him. Him. The dull, plain Alec who only had black worn out sweaters making up his entire closet, the Alec who had hid behind Jace and Isabelle the whole time during their first meeting, somewhere no one was supposed to notice. But he did. Magnus did. He saw him, and he smiled at him and really, _really_ looked at him. He didn't slide his gaze away from him to his more glamorous siblings who deserved the spotlight when he had the chance - which he did, as they were standing right in front of him - like everyone else. And yet he didn't. For some unknown reason his eyes stayed on him and _asked_ for him, something no one had done for a long, long time. And that made his heart thump, springing alive with something he couldn't muster, for the first time since he laid eyes on Jace.

But he did not fall on the spot for him.

He was, in his defence, as anyone would be, still hung up on Jace and he wasn't ready to give up on him yet. Or at least, that was what he told himself.

Jace had always been the safer option. He was the golden boy, the supernova against his dark starlight, the one everyone swoon over. Well, except for Church, but then again, he didn't like anyone. And Jace was the one he was bound to, his parabatai, which was a bonus, since then, no one would suspect that he was a little enamoured with his brother even if he was being somewhat more than friendly with him. But he understood, somewhere deep inside him, that they were never meant to be, for that would break every rule there was, being parabatai, being brothers and being men.

And naive as he was, he wanted his heart to lie on familiar grounds, where nothing could break or hurt it, for he had seen so many betrayed vows of love in the mundane world and endured so much more than mortal pain that he wasn't sure if he wanted a new experience.

Then again, how could he let anyone love him when he didn't love himself?

Turning a corner into a side street, an odd couple came into view. Two men, of different heights and different attires walked side by side, leaning towards one another in a familiar pattern, not that of friends, and not that of lovers, but more of a completion of each other, like long lost puzzle pieces that finally became one. The two men were not of a kind nature, nor were they lovers, but accomplices of a long history of con and deceit. Their steps were parallel and their minds so alike there almost seemed to be a mental link between them, sewing their thoughts into one. Right at this instance, the four eyes were trained on the boy hobbling towards them, and they squinted in the soft light of a distant street lamp, trying to access the potential of the victim and decide what to do with this new toy. The man on the right, a short man with a round, soft face that nearly always had a smile of the most deceitfully innocent and charming nature hanging off of it, darted his eyes over the intruder, searching for possible weapons, his hands rubbing one another in a habitual way, then wiped themselves off the grey worn shirt he was wearing that hung down onto his bottom when he found none, a signal for his partner to walk forward into the light and take a closer look.

The taller man, dressed in precious silk, which seemed, in comparison, so shockingly contrasting against his accomplice that he was often mistaken to be a generous donor, kindly showing the less unfortunate around the city. This mistake never fail to bring a smile upon the two faces, though they never talked about it for there never was a need to. There wasn't a need to smile either really, but it helped business when they did, so they did it anyhow. Straightening his shirt and the suit with skilled fingers that moved so fast with precision, developed over time and age, the older man walked slowly and nonchalantly towards the brooding boy, fidgeting with his watch as he neared him.

But just as fast as he had advanced, he stopped, hiding himself in the array of shadows that enfettered the darker corner of the side street. The older man had very sharp eyes, trained through his early days as a pickpocket at the proud age of five on the streets of London, and right now, from what they could tell, the man in front of him was a very dangerous man. It was not because of the fact that the man was dressed in dark clothes fit for combat, nor the fact that there were red entrails running down the side of his face and crisscrossing at the ears, it was not because of the fact that despite his stumbling, there was a certain dancer's grace in his footsteps, nor was it the fact that there seemed to be a black shade encircling the man, like a sort of glamour in those magic shows. It was because of the grief, rolling off the young, fair-looking boy as if he was the definition of depression.

Grief was a strong emotion, one that set things in motion and crumble the hardest hearts, young or old, as easily as one rip through a paper with bare hands. Grief was a tidal wave that would bring you down in one swift flick, an unimaginable force that would flatten you against the ground, against your will, until you were nothing but a piece of worn thin sheet, bruised and shaken, rewritten and nicked away by experience and pain, creating a new person out of you. It consumed you, and would kill you if you weren't careful enough, for you could never really run away from grief, just as one could never really let something go.

The taller man did not want to make any trouble with this boy – if he asked himself to be truly honest, the truth was he didn't want to _hurt_ him any further – and he flicked his fingers to the shorter man, who too had began to understand why his partner had taken no action, a signal to let the boy go.

The grievous man passed them – his head cocked slightly to the side as if he was listening to something – such a strange, strange man – they watched on as he stumbled, nearly falling, and the men found themselves taking a step forward, wanting to help, due to some outrageously hidden conscience they had inside of them they did not yet know of, but his shadow disappeared from the vandalized buildings just as soon as they took note of that fact. They waited some more, and he was gone.

Under the cloudless sky, the couple walked on, seemingly unfazed, each hiding their emotions and thoughts, despite the clarity of them in the other's mind, and retreated back into the safety of the shadows.

Midnight drew on as minutes passed in a slow, opportune way. Soft and gentle, the wind was a soft chime against Alec's ear as he trudged on along the path, trying to find his way back into normality.

Alec had known since he was little that there was something wrong with him, he had never shown much interest in the opposite sex, and he had never been able to be attracted to girls. Unlike Jace, no girls had ever flocked into his arms, well, to be fair, there were a certain one or two, but he had never ever even wanted that, and he had never really been able to talk to them without being uncomfortable. Then, when one day during practice, he started to notice the refined muscles in Jace's arms and the way his golden hair flip in a way that was just right, he knew. Alec, was gay.

But that was _wrong_.

His parents and Hodge, had long since induced in him the fact that no man should be with another man, and during all of his secret frantic searches in the Institute's library, furiously flipping through the Accords and the Bible, all he was able to find was that being a homosexual was an abomination. And for that, Alec was terrified of himself, he didn't _want_ to be attracted to other men, and he didn't want to disappoint - he would do anything to be the perfect son in his parents' eyes, just once, to be better than Jace by not being a heartbreaker - This, however, would definitely tick off all the reasons for his parents to even think of loving him and throw him out of the house. But it was no choice of his, and for once, Alec didn't know how to fix it.

And so he escaped, hid from everyone, closed himself off, blended into the darkness, until he was but just a shadow in the crowd, and a shadow of who he was. And all the while, he hated himself. For he was nothing, he was ugly and gay, a freak not even fit for shows in circuses. All he had ever been able to do was fight, and that didn't stop Jace from breaking his every record. And therefore Alexander Lightwood never loved himself, and he never could.

He had considered running away once, just him and Church, who had seemed to hold favour for him over the other household members, for his hair and blue eyes he suspect, for he had, not just once, found him clawing at his hair with a strange tenderness he could not find when he saw the cat "play" with Jace's locks. He wanted to escape to a place where people were fair, and love was equal, a place where men were not deprived of the one thing they were supposed to be born for and where men lived for no purpose but lived with one. He wasn't sure if such a place existed, but a boy could hope. Such a scheme had not taken place however, for when he had started packing his bags, determined to leave, door unlocked - a mistake on his part he admitted - his sister had barged in and the secret had slipped out. And due to surprising support from her side and a never-had-been solid determination from his side, the boy remained and went back into hiding; the secret shared between the two like it was a fire, a fire that would do nothing but destruction once it was let out.

And for years, nothing ever seemed to change.

But then the warlock came into his life, almost coincidentally and changed _everything_.

The drizzle turned into a full rain just as Alec turned into an all too familiar street, a little pathway he memorized by his frequent detours, first in secret, then a necessity - he wouldn't dare to leave the apartment for too long, he wasn't sure if he could bare it - that would soon lead to an all too familiar place. The shadowhunter hesitated, but continued nonetheless, what did it matter if the warlock saw him drenched and bloodied? It was his fault, betraying the one thing that redefined who he was and what he could be.

Magnus showed him that he could be loved, and in return for their discovery of the mystery of love Alec gave him all that he could give, his firsts, his requital, and even if he didn't realize it then, his heart. And for the first time in his whole life, he felt like he was given a place in the world, a place that was safe, a place that was his second home, a place that was Magnus' arms.

And Alec could still remember how Magnus had been his lifesaver, how he had murmured words of comfort and courage to him when he pulled him to safety at the brink of death. The first time he had trudged up the stairs to Magnus' apartment alone, trembling with a fierce determination. The first time he had been open with somebody else other than his sister about his sexuality. The first time Magnus had touched him in affection, a soft swipe of his thumb across his cheekbones as a blush bloomed just at the same time, much to his dismay. The first time they kissed, a moment so sharp and defined even now in his confused state of mind, an image that never ceased to knock the breath out of him. Oh, Alec would relive those moments again and again until the end of time and still enjoy every second of it. Everything he ever did with Magnus was magical, as the man himself was, and he was grateful for it. But he knew, he knew that Magnus was dissatisfied with him, with the secrecy of their relationship, and he didn't blame him, for who was he to blame when he was the one at fault? But Alec was not ready, and he convinced himself that he was not in love.

But then, as if his own mind was rebelling against him, his thoughts started to drift toward Magnus whenever and wherever he was, and his dreams started to feature green-gold eyes instead of gold ones. He started to want to run towards the man whenever he appeared, as if there was a magnet attached to the space between them, attracting the shadowhunter to him when they were close together by the force of nature. Alec tried to ignore the urges, the pull of his heart, but whenever he turned towards the opposite direction, shrugged his gentle hand off his shoulder and disregard him when others were present, he would feel his heart break, little by little, and he wondered if Magnus felt the same.

Then came the war Valentine had initiated, the war in which Magnus saved his life yet again, pulling him out of the deep water and breathing into him his already depleted magic from keeping the protective ward down from the ship and the truck afloat just so that Alec wouldn't drown. He had been unappreciative back then, demanding him to take him back so he could fight, but with one look, taking in the drenched, tired man, his glitter washed down by sweat, his face drawn out of strength, eyes heavily dropped in a defeated fashion, finally fitting the face of one who had lived for a very, very long time, he realized with a pang just how much Magnus had sacrificed for him, how he had drained all of his magic just to help the shadowhunter and the Clave, even though they had despised him and condemned him to be something inferior due to a linkage he could not control. He had done so much, for no reason and no reward, entirely just for him.

And that was when Alec understood, that the cat-eyes warlock had long since taken root in his heart, and he was far too important to just be a guilty pleasure of his. And that Magnus really cared, no matter what he might think, for he was always there when he needed him, when they needed him. But such a revelation was all too soon and _still_ he wasn't ready to face the truth, for he was too afraid of the consequences that may be brought along, consequences that he wasn't sure he could take without complaint and without regret. Instead, he gave the tired warlock all of his strength, an appreciative smile and a shoulder to rest on, for they were the only things he could offer right now.

After they defeated Valentine, Alec thought that all was over, but nothing prepared him for the destruction Valentine's son was to bring. And he could still remember, as clear as the colour of daybreak on a pleasant day, as was it the day when the demons broke into Alicante, killing everything in their path, leaving nothing but destruction and ruin; that catch in his breath when he saw a demon creeping up onto his secret lover.

At that moment, he felt a surge of fierce protectiveness, the same kind of power he could feel whenever someone hurt the people he loved, and it was at that exact point when he realized that he loved the warlock. It no longer mattered that they were both men. It no longer mattered that neither society, mundane nor the hidden world, accepted them. It no longer mattered that he was scared for himself and of himself and that they had yet to define what they were – which he must admit was because of he himself. He loved him, Alec _loved_ Magnus, and no one was to stand in his way from loving him. And so he jumped, away from safety, away from familiarity, to the unknown and to Magnus, welcoming him fully into his heart and making a promise he had never made before - a promise to come out to his parents and a promise of his love in return. And nothing, nothing could be used to describe the even greater joy he felt when Magnus told him that he too loved him.

Skidding to a stop right before the street lamp that marked his arrival to his destination, the now entirely wet man leaned down an squinted at the dry paint on the lamp post, trying to make use of the weak light to make out a small inscription made not too long ago at the base of the rusted metal post. It was an old lamp, fashioned in the Victorian times, the last few of its kind, of which Alec suspected was probably brought and built by Magnus, for it sat so untypically out of the picture, a descendant from another time, on the street of Brooklyn, one of New York's most populous boroughs.

He remembered how Magnus had said that he loved the soft glow of the lamplight, bringing him a shard of what it had been, back in his days in London, when he had been a little less experienced, more optimistic about extent of the nephilims' acceptance of hybrids like him and had allowed himself to step headfirst into shadowhunter affairs due to his vulnerability to broken things with little hesitation. Alec knew the warlock was not entirely nostalgic, unless during those lonelier mornings and evenings of no special concern - for these were really the times when shadows of the past hit you right where you never thought they would - those were understandable, but he also knew the price of memories, especially to that of the immortals, thus he was glad the flickering light could give him a solid reminder of his past, one that would not fade as the men in them had, and that it gave the man a chance to be there to wipe away his unshed tears. The raven-haired man leaned down, crouching slightly, and wiped the rain away from his forehead with an angry grimace, touching his way down the nicks and crooks of the base of the post, until his hand fell onto the familiar calligraphy of Magnus Bane, etched in by magic and a steady hand, saying nothing but their initials, bound together by a line that went on without fail, a circle without end.

The first snow of winter had fallen the day the inscription was made. It had been nothing, a typical Tuesday day when the sun had shone brightly, demonic activity was low and Magnus had cancelled all his appointments on impulse and a little selfishness - there really weren't many days when Alec was free – they had ran out, glamoured, shouting in unconcealed glee, dashing through the thin sheet of snow blanketing the pavement, scooping up just enough to throw at unsuspecting pedestrians. The warlock had looked so…joyous that day, when Alec purposefully pushed him down onto the ground – although he had stretched out an arm to break his fall – and he had fallen onto the ground with a gentle thud, next to the lamppost, nearly hysterical as he watched mundanes frightened out of their minds trying to get away from the snowballs coming from nowhere. Alec did not approve of the game at first, manipulating the people he was supposed to protect, but then Magnus had sounded so genuinely excited to have someone play snowballs with him for the first time in decades - none of his relationships had lasted that long, and he made a rule to never start one near Christmas, it would be too intimate and too hard of a thing to buy a present for a practical stranger - that he somehow said yes before the thought passed entirely through his rationality. And seeing him then, eyes glistening from tears of laughter, a finger lazily writing, inscribing their names onto the base of the street lamp, the other arm playing with Alec's windblown hair, as if he was trying to mark down this little memory of theirs onto something permanent and made 'them' into a 'forever', the eighteen-years-old had been simply, so _damn_ happy.

But perhaps he didn't deserve to be happy, because in his euphoria, his little brother's life was taken away. It was as if fate was playing a cruel joke on him, giving him true joy in exchange for the life of someone he loved. And the shadowhunter couldn't take it, he couldn't bear the thought that he was the one to cause all the pain, the _tow_ it had taken on his sister. And even though Magnus had comforted him and told him that it wasn't his fault, when he had ran to him at his loft in instinct, crying for the first time, the first time since a long time, in his arms under the cover of the night and away from his family, after he had fulfilled his role to be strong and protective over his family, Alec still couldn't keep the image of his broken brother out of his head, his eyes empty, devoid of the happiness the eldest Lightwood had come to be accustomed to be lurking in the most unusual places. And he knew, he just knew, that it must be his fault, for he was the protector, he was the one who had everyone's back, for he was nothing if he failed. As for his happiness? Well, it would just get in the way. And so he put down his promise to Magnus, and he watched in despair as he saw the hopeful light in Magnus' eyes died down day after day, night after night as he started to realize that perhaps, Alec would never fulfill his vow. But he couldn't let him be happy, because when Magnus was happy, he would be happy, and the shadowhunter didn't dare, nor deserve to be happy.

And so he convinced himself that he wasn't really in love, pretended that what he felt was just part of his job, to protect those in need. He started to ignore Magnus' texts, avoided him when they were supposed to meet, and kept their conversations short, curt and professional. But just as he thought he had shoved his feelings away into a dusty corner of a street called "mistakes", Clary showed him, literally showed him that his feelings had not died, but rather, grown. For the person he had seen at the meeting with the Clave had been Magnus, he had been confused then, seeing Magnus on the stage when he was right next to him, but when Amatis had nearly ran on the stage, screaming her late husband's name, and the image of Magnus faded away, back into Clary, he finally understood, the rune Clary had invented was the one that would show them the one they loved most. And Alec had seen Magnus, even in his state of absolute denial and restraint, the flamboyant warlock was the "one", if you didn't mind the cliche. And even the angels, the cruel, unforgiving angels who had taught his father that men were not supposed to be with other men, especially not Downworlder men, had cast down their light and acceptance through the angelic rune and said so.

And oh how glad and content Alec was, his heart that was kept in a cage woven by his own parents and the heritage he was born into had finally broken free of its bondage. But at the same time, he was worried. He was worried that, after all these weeks of denial and ignorance, the warlock wouldn't take him back. And he was worried that he couldn't keep his promise, or more so, that when he made Magnus's dream come true, it wouldn't be as grand and glorified as he deserved.

And so, in the Accords hall, he had waited, quite impatiently, for the warlock. He wasn't sure if he would survive this battle, he wasn't sure if Magnus would, but he damn well would make sure that the warlock did, yet before that, before the possibility of never seeing him again, Alec needed to show him what he felt. He wanted to show him just how much he meant to him. How much he loved him. Yes, "love", that was the word he should use, should have used, all those times ago, in his texts and in his stuttering responses. Love, so short yet so sophisticated, the only word that could completely convey the message of his heart – that quickened thumping when the warlock came near him, that blush that always reemerged when he said something endearingly inappropriate, especially during all those "accidental" crosses of their paths across the room, that smile that somehow switched on when he thought of him, and when he wasn't thinking of him, the images that sprang up without a warning, leaving him at a loss of words and a flaming face, right in the middle of a family meeting. That intense, unstoppable wave of feeling that grazed his heart in such a sudden rush when he was completely unprepared, that left him unnerved, panting for air, panting for nothing else but _more_.

And when Alec found him, standing in a corner of the room, slouched and head bent, as if he was trying to blend in, an impossible task that was, he felt the same familiar swell of love in his heart. And he knew what he had to do. Magnus had looked surprised when he saw him, fidgeting slightly with the collar of his coat, and looking everywhere but at him, the warlock was worried, worried for him, worried of what Alec coming near him would mean to the shadowhunter. But Alec didn't care anymore. He didn't care about the suspicious eyes of others, he didn't think about the Laws that were written hundreds of years ago by men who didn't _understand_ what it felt like to be different, he didn't worry about what he was about to do, the enormity of what was about to happen. All he wanted was for the man before him to be happy, to get what he deserved. And so as he leaned down and took the man's hand, so warm yet still quivering into his hand, drawing the Alliance rune onto it, he made a decision, to present him, their relationship and his feelings for him that had only grown stronger, to his parents, to the shadowhunters, to the world.

The surging forward and the kiss itself were not difficult; it had come so naturally, practiced, and perfect. And the rush of euphoria inside of him when it happened, that joy when he finally let his walls down and showed everyone what he really was, that rapturous experience when he finally accepted himself, and the eyes that was overflowing with adoration, pride and the promise of a requited love that was staring right back into his when he dared to open his eyes again was worth everything.

_Everything._

Perhaps fate had taken a sudden favor unto him, because of his bravery, and they had survived the battle. Alec had then moved into Magnus' apartment - they spent too much time together anyway that it would only be a nuisance if he hadn't - and the young boy was happy for once. Everyday had became a new adventure to him, a new step, a new breathtaking journey that no one could ever douse away the passion that burned so fiercely in his eyes. And when Magnus proposed they take a trip together, around the world, Alec never even think about the possibility of saying no, and had leaped into the arms of the laughing warlock in a fit of excitement.

The vacation had been spontaneous, full of surprises that both delighted and startled him, and Alec had loved every minute of it. Thinking back on the journey now, it seemed so much like a dream, a dream that was fading but one that he would never forget. The shadowhunter and his warlock, yes his warlock, had gone all over the world, leaving little memories, little keepsakes, little dream-come-trues, marking the world the sole witness of their courtship.

And then there was that night. That night when Magnus made him truly his and that night when Alec finally let go, of all of his worries and pain and obligations. That night when he was no longer only a shadowhunter or a brother or a parabatai but had earned the right to be a lover. That night when he was nothing but Magnus' and he his. That night of breathless whispers and vows for infinity under the fading lights. That night of which he would never forget. That night of which he would never relive.

And just when he though nothing could be better, just when he thought nothing could bring him down from his high, just when he had the most wonderful, mind-blowing night of his life, just when he thought he could actually be happy for once and let down his guard, a call came. A call asking for Magnus, a call that pulled them from their romantic getaway back to his old life of fighting and protection and selflessness, a call that led him to meet the person who would wreck his seemingly perfect world.

His fingers followed the smooth curves and dips, hands unsteady, shaky, he cared not about his poise, it mattered little now, he followed it slowly, as if he was some blind man trying to learn Braille, feeling, remembering, until his fingers were Magnus' fingers, until he realized that all that was inscribed on the raw metal were their initials, nothing more. 'They' were the only thing the lamppost remembered, the only that mattered enough to be remembered on Magnus' memento to the past.

_Stupid, so very stupid._ Alec took a breath, controlling his tears, except there weren't any. He expected there to be some, from his ordeals with his sister's first few heartbreaks, but no, the tears just didn't come, they did not flow out of his eyes like in those sappy romance novels nor did they trickle down his cheeks, like trinkets and diamonds as depicted in Simon's mangas - he was surprised there were the few romantic ones, though he later realized with slight concern for his brother that they were Clary's - beautiful even when crying, he had been quite sure that it had been a myth, given his earlier, nightly personal experience as a child in front of a mirror, when he had first found out what he was, until he saw Magnus do exactly that. It was night, the grove of starlight casting away the veil of space from the naked eye, when the shadowhunter had woken up to an indescribable sound, so foreign and strange to his ear he never once thought they were sounds of sobbing until he opened his eyes. Right there, his arms were flung across a shivering mess of a man, his eyes were clasped close, the glow of his cat eyes hidden from the darkness like a sun blinked out of darkness in a sunset that took place too quickly. Magnus had been stunning even then, he knew this was cruel, and very likely pointed to the fact that he was sadistic, but it was as if the warlock had perfected the art of crying, that even in such a state of depression had made the shadowhunter so inevitably in awe of his beauty and momentarily stupefied he didn't know what he should do.

Right in front of him, tears were streaming down Magnus' face and fingers that had wrapped themselves across his tanned cheeks in an obviously desperate attempt to smother his cries. Alec knew the expression too well and immediately squinted his eyes into a thin line, hoping to fool the warlock into thinking that he was still sleeping - though his hold on him had involuntarily tightened - for he knew that men and women alike, no matter how close they were to a person, would never want anyone to see them at their most vulnerable, and especially not Magnus, who he had known to be able to laugh off every insult and disappointment. It was such that he couldn't even begin to comprehend the reason why he broke down. Then he heard it, soft, broken gasps of reason the sound of a wind whispering slipping from his lips - _'No. Alec. No.'_ It was that one night after the final battle with Valentine, it was also that one night when Alec realized that the high warlock was scared of water, and that despite that, Magnus had jumped in to save him.

Such was a man he had lost, and still the tears did not come. Perhaps his mother had been right, sometimes when the sadness was too great of a burden to bear, it would numb your senses, pushing you into a state of denial where nothing was real, not even dreams, a state where you did not think crying would be needed, for it would all be over soon.

It was funny sometimes, a lake could look so calm and deep, as if nothing could ruin its peace, and yet if you throw in a pebble, something so small and insignificant compared to that of the lake, it would create endless ripples that only grew larger in size, ripples that reminded you that all could be destroyed at once, with one throw, one little mistake.

And that pebble was Camille Belcourt.

Camille Belcourt was beautiful, forever frozen in time, just as Magnus was, and a vampire, a wondrously sculpted, horrifyingly repellent and luridly manipulative one. He understood that now, but then, Alec was only eighteen, an infant compared to Camille, and to him, the only thing that was running through his mind was the fact that Camille was Magnus' ex-girlfriend, and that Magnus also liked girls. To Alec, she was just a love rival, a love rival that just might win Magnus back.

And so when Camille asked to speak to Magnus alone, he stayed behind to listen in. He knew that this wasn't very professional, nor was it at all mature, but the young shadowhunter couldn't help it, he couldn't help it because he was just so jealous, so scared of losing someone who lit up his life, and so undeniably _hopeless_ in restraining himself when the matter at hand was Magnus.

And though he couldn't catch all of the conversation, since the vampire spoke in such a soft voice, as if she expected him to be eavesdropping and was teasing him with little snippets of her words, he did catch a few things - she still wanted Magnus. Magnus still had feelings for her. And there was a Will, a Will that looked remarkably like him, and from the looks of it, a Will that was a past lover of Magnus.

But those few things were enough to cause ripples in the lake, and like unparalleled cracks upon a fragile mirror, the ripples never stopped growing.

Jealousy was a peculiar creature, a creature that was able to seep through any cracks, no matter how impenetrable you seemed on the surface. An unseen smoke that induced destruction every time you breathe it in, even though it was just a wisp, a slither of a breath, even if you never meant to. And poison was its nature, colourless, odourless, undetectable yet fatal all the same. All it took was a small insinuation, a drop of doubt, and jealousy would run through your veins, the reminiscence of the purest heroin, manifesting in one's mind like those wretched plants, "stranglers", they were called, choking all rational thoughts out of their host until they reign as king. Camille was that insinuation, and her words the ignition of a coming fire.

From that day on, the nephilim started to question everything, thus Magnus, about what he thought he had known, he questioned the past, he questioned his birth, he questioned whether they would last and he questioned his own worth. But the warlock had never given him a clear answer, slippery and cunning as a thief he was, stealing his heart and his faith, Magnus had tactfully escaped the boy's interrogations - if they should even be called an "interrogation" in any way, he had but only asked, - he distracted him with sweet nothings, with that blasted smirk of his and with "I love you, isn't that enough?", the most beautiful lie that the man himself had crushed with the truth just moments ago.

And no, it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough because he was eighteen years old and he was eight hundred and counting. It wasn't enough because he might die tomorrow and never would he. It wasn't enough because he was his first and quite possibly his last but he was his likely hundredth, and definitely not his last – Alec wouldn't have wanted that anyway. It wasn't enough because all he wanted was for him to confide in him just as he had him, just as he had trusted him and loved him, and just so he knew he was reciprocated.

And so the fights started. Every time there had been something the boy hadn't heard before he asked about it, he questioned every single person Magnus mentioned, every little token or name that slipped off his tongue, just to unravel a little more of the woven web that was the warlock's life, just to push his hand, though blindly, but purposefully, in to find that one particular string that would he hoped, with one pull, break the walls down and let him in. And yes he knew he was selfish. Yes he knew he should give the warlock time to let him in, for really, he was but just a new conquest for the warlock and very much undeserving of the immortal's love, but the thing was, he didn't have time. He had gotten everything but time - now he had lost everything too - and he couldn't wait, he couldn't give the man time. And he didn't.

So the fights continued. And Alec had grown sick with jealously by then, and sometimes when you are sick, you just couldn't remember how it was like being healthy, how it felt like to feel perfectly fine, to wake up and could smile at how bright the sky was and how you would be able to do everything according to plan because there was nothing wrong with your body.

An old woman by the name of which she had forgotten sat by her window, a little to the left, just as she liked it best. The street outside was adorned with a fancy lamplight, which, if her memory was serving her as well as it had been twenty years ago, would tell her that it was built well before her time. She watched with slight amusement as a familiar man went into an apartment just one floor underneath her, if she was living at the opposite side. He seemed to be limping slightly, as if he had been in a fight, she didn't worry much about it though, for he always seemed to be in fights, from the numerous times she had seen the man. He must be some sort of gang member, she thought, especially with those black leather jackets of his, he didn't seem to own any bright-coloured clothing. She turned around, bored now that the man had gone in, and had not gone back out with his little boyfriend in hand - she suspected they were of that relationship, she was happy for them, really, especially for that lonely kid that was always partying, he always seemed so happy when the man was there - and searched for her reading glasses, which were perched on top of her head.

Alec stepped into the familiar apartment with a shiver, breathing in the natural scent of sandalwood and his lemon soap mixed altogether in one soothing symphony. Leaving his key on the counter as instructed, he went into their room with heavy footsteps, as if answering the summon of a knell.

Though really, it was his entire fault.

For it wasn't that Alec didn't notice those short concealed sighs and those tired shifting eyes, it wasn't that he wasn't aware of that tic in his jaw and those furrowed brows, it wasn't that he didn't discern those curled shaking fingers and that controlled hurt that swam the slits of pupils. It wasn't that he didn't want to stop himself from hurting Magnus, for he knew he was hurting him - But what could he do when he was so insecure about their whole relationship? What could he do when he felt as if he was the only one teetering on the broken line that constructed the warlock and his relationship, the wind blowing from both sides, determined to push him off the edge, while Magnus stood on the other side of the cliff, passively looking off into oblivion, as if waiting, yes, waiting, for him to fall?

And no, he didn't suspect Magnus' love for him; in fact, he was convinced that he did. What he wasn't convinced about was whether if he deserved it.

Perhaps he should have stopped caring when he heard that he was not trivial to Magnus. And perhaps he should have believed him when he said there wasn't going to be a next time. But Alec was tired of being ignored, tired of being unable to get answers, and most of all, he was tired of being shut out from the man he dared to love, for he was but eighteen years old, inexperienced and had given his whole heart and soul to the warlock with little hesitation, so uncharacteristic of him. Alec wasn't sure how he should love, he wasn't sure if falling so fast, falling this hard was even normal, surely a little insecurity wouldn't hurt?

So he chose to believe.

Alec hung onto that little hope the vampiress had given him - an actual definite future with the High Warlock, despite the knowledge that she was manipulative and could very much be lying, despite the fact that he knew at some point something will go wrong, despite knowing that it would take Magnus' immortality away. For no matter what he was and what his duty was supposed to be, Alec was selfish. He was selfish and he was not in the business of denying that he didn't want a stable relationship, a relationship he never thought he would be able to have. He had denied himself love, accepted his own existence to be abomination, played along with the rules of the merciless fate for so long he was tired of making compromises, compromises that was never in his favour – so just this once, just this once, he thought he could and should get what he wanted, no matter what the cost was. And yes, Alec was sinful and shy and so much of a wimp at feelings that he was sure no one would want him. And yet Magnus did. He did and he did more than plainly loving him. He accepted him and taught him to accept himself. Alec wanted that, and he wanted Magnus. He was selfish, yes. He was cruel, yes. He was going against his nature, yes. But this was also his first time of loving, this was also his first time of dealing with the issue of his mortality, one that he never realized would come to play such an important role in his life, and thus Alec was scared. He was scared of losing Magnus, he was scared of going to a place Magnus would not be able to follow, but most of all, he was scared of leaving Magnus.

He was scared that once he did, Magnus would forget him like he had with all the other lovers he had. Alec knew deep in his heart that he wouldn't forget him, just like he hadn't forgotten all the other lovers he had had. But there was always that chance; there was always the possibility of being dead without leaving a trace on someone's heart. And he didn't ask to be the most special imprint – he wanted to be, of course, but he would never force Magnus to do it – he just wanted to be remembered as someone who loved, and was loved in return. And Alec knew how much Magnus had suffered due to his forsaken immortality; a curse that so many ignorant mundanes were preening after, not aware of the fact that it was in fact, the nightmare of those who were born with such a "blessing" of a long life. He didn't want Magnus to suffer anymore, and he genuinely thought he would have wanted mortality, a "happy ending" just as those in the fairytales at the Institute, with an actual end that promised an "ever after", as if it was a promise that had broken through the boundaries of death and stretched through and across not one but many lifetimes to come; and not simply one that ended with a fresh death and the beginning of a new numb search for love.

But then again, real love stories were never supposed to have an ending, were they?

Alec's hand held onto the doorknob, turning it slightly to the left, then to the right, the only way that would allow a person to enter the room unannounced. He learnt that trick through a couple experiments with the creaking door the warlock never took the energy to fix.

Stepping into the room silently, he grabbed with one hand a bag from under the bed and opened it wide, and another the closet handle, flinging it wide open in a moment of rage, at himself no less, and started throwing his clothes - there weren't many - into his bag, then proceeded to the bathroom to do the same, all the while lamenting on his stupidity and regrets.

And due to his concentration, he never heard the jingling of keys at the front door, due to him not bothering to turn on the lights, he never took into account the tall shadow that had slipped into a corner of the room and stood himself still, a silent tear running down his cheeks. He did not see the man start forward, only to restrain himself when the nephilim had nearly stumbled in a lack of blood. He did not notice the cat-eyed man that had run right back out of the door, with a hand clasped tight across his mouth in a silent scream of his own name.

Keeping the secret away from the warlock was a mistake. He did not intend to hurt Magnus anymore than he had right now, and to quote the centenarian, "which was not at all". But to justify himself, that was to say that he earned the justification – of which right at this instance he wasn't sure if he was worthy of anything at all – he did it not out of spite or deceit, he had did it in another desperate mean to learn more, to learn more about the past Magnus never offered, and to learn if what he was doing was loving him. Just some damn information, some knowledge of the past he was not invited into. He understood quite certainly that he was conspiring to take away Magnus's immortality, but never once had he pictured it as an act to shorten his life. All he had ever wanted was a happy ending, and the thought that this could possibly be seen as a way of indirect murder had never crossed his mind, not once, not twice, not ever.

He had nearly lost Magnus once back at the battlefield, the memory still fresh as an open wound, somehow managing to numb the desperate tear of the breakup. "Breakup", a word so foreign to his ears, it was almost as if it hadn't happened. Pathetic, that was what Jace would say. Alec wondered what his parabatai would react to the breakup - maybe he would be angry, at Magnus, no doubt, despite what Alec would try to do to convince him; maybe he would be surprised, or perhaps not, if he really could feel through their bond; either way, he would very likely be pissed.

Alec had almost hoped to get a heartbreak once, back in his teenage years, just since that would mean he actually had a target to think about; and yet now that he had one, he wasn't sure why he even wanted to acquire a pain greater than all that he had endured in his life, even greater than when he had thought Magnus had died. Or maybe he was just stupid. The warlock seemed to think so.

Alec had almost lost him once, now had he twice. Perhaps fate had finally caught up with her tragic victim, spinning for him the end of his last tale of redemption and joy.

Or maybe he had just let the string of love slip through his fingers again, despite his knowledge of its fragility and by his own mistake.

For at the end of the day, love was but just a plain white thread that tied people together with a simple knot – one that would only get messier and more entangled as you crossed paths and encircled one another in the race in the labyrinth of the most complex mystery of the world, and one that would only hurt more when you were bound to separate and face the excruciating task of untangling yourself – but alas, the connection was not sewn in, and the link could be loosened, if not severed, by a simple tug of string by one side, through abandonment, ignorance and betrayal.

Alec patted Chairman on his head before leaving, a gentle gesture that seemed to promise his return. The feline stood at the foot of the sofa, which was bright red, obvious as to who picked it out in replacement of the old one, which broke due to a certain accident he never want to talk about again - he really didn't think it would happen - his head was cocked sideways, whiskers quivering, as if there was a question in its mind. Alec said nothing and walked out of the door without a second glance.

The sky was dark, obnubilated with an overwhelming dread and gloom, or maybe it had been brightly brushed with the lovely colours of dawn, only that it touched neither his heart nor the projection he had of the sky as the shadowhunter turned a corner out back onto the street he came to be familiar with.

Squinting his eyes against the dark sky, he tried to pick out dots of light, stars that sometimes illuminated the night sky of New York. Alec could still remember that one time at a party – one that the warlock had held in his loft especially for Alec's sake – Magnus had uncharacteristically gotten drunk a minute just past midnight. It was funny how the things Alec remembered most were moments, moments perhaps not of the utmost importance, but ones that had constructed their relationship, like little fragments of the past teaming up together in one big brotherhood of figments, the consolidation of their love's existence.

Alec could see him now, clear as day, the mob of black hair, one that really could not be described as a "mob" but more of a coruscation, showered with stardust the shade of molten silver, yet free of the familiar gel, let down in a manner to please; the black, smudged kohl a sharp contrast to the sparkling green speckled with golden dust, pupils full blown in a wide circle, yet teasing all the same; the everlasting slight pull of lips upwards, as if the world itself did not matter because the bearer was indefinitely better than the universe, the lipstick slightly smudged and bruised due to well, he himself (he really shouldn't have been so eager) and the tall, slightly, alcohol-induced shivering shadow that cascaded from his back, down the white kitchen stool, a majestic black cape that allowed viewers a glimpse into who the nineteen year old look-alike really was.

Music in the background was in full swing, a slow peal of energy pulsing from invisible waves of notes swirling through the room in a feat to sweep the partygoers into a craze of smoke and dance. The light was dimmed, yet just bright enough to show you a side of the face of whoever you were dancing with, an unwritten invitation of tease and seduction choreographed by the host in an effort to make comers less lonely, less separated and closer to the beautiful confusion he was in right now, a confusion brought along by his little sweet pea.

Alec remembered how hard the warlock had looked at him that night. His demeanour changing so drastically it was almost chilling to the shadowhunter as he leaned casually against the kitchen table, looking at the drunk warlock with unconcealed amusement, an arm slightly and unconsciously outstretched towards him – just to catch him if he fell – the misty, moist eyes had sobered up all of a sudden in a split of a second, as if there was a strange revelation, an arrow of truth that plundered through the drunken haze. Green eyes trained so intensely onto Alec as the words, words laced with such firm determination and adoration, flowed from his mouth, it had almost transported him to a place as though it was in those silly mundane books, a place where there were only the two of them, both the part of the other, a comprehension, a testimony, a completion of a long, seemingly hopeless tale of the reconciliation of two lost souls.

_"I have never loved anyone the way I loved you."_

_Me neither._ Alec thought now to himself as he picked his way along the cobbled stone path towards the faint light from a window at the familiar cathedral - from his room, perhaps, an act to fool his presence, funny how that turned out - kicking up dust and rain from the ground, his arm slung across the other that swung in an odd angle, a message for the Institute from Maureen. He had forgotten what he had said in reply, or maybe he had said nothing at all, for the warlock had fallen asleep almost immediately afterwards, right after, as if he had held no knowledge of that – Alec had asked Magnus about it the next day, he claimed to have said not such a thing, though the shadowhunter did see a suspecting blush – he had knocked the breath out of the boy with the simple touch of ten words, light as feathers, but heavy and powerful all the same.

_Me neither._

_But at least now I know how._

Across the street, the old woman sat herself back down onto the sofa, having found her glasses, and noticed with delight a blue scarf from Gap, wound around the base of a streetlamp, as if it was protecting something precious.


End file.
